


Re Another Clichéd Romance

by KeyWillow5



Category: Mission: Impossible (Movies)
Genre: Awkward Sex, Cuteness overload, EBenji, First Time, M/M, PWP, Post-Mission: Impossible - Rogue Nation (2015), Translation from Chinese, bottom!Benji, top!Ethan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-21
Updated: 2018-09-21
Packaged: 2019-07-11 17:29:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15977060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KeyWillow5/pseuds/KeyWillow5
Summary: Benji thought, compared with a police van stolen with a neon uniform and a cabin crammed full of four grown males, Ethan would choose the black BMW.





	Re Another Clichéd Romance

**Author's Note:**

> Translated from the Chinese fic originally posted on Lofter: http://hispider-man.lofter.com/post/1d528497_12a24c638
> 
> The author has graciously granted me permission to translate and post it here, and I hope I’ve done the wonderful fic justice. Unbetaed; any and all mistakes are mine.

“Your neck here tastes salty,” Ethan says, removing the wrinkled red jacket from the man. Not an easy task, what with the inner layer, a beige tee with a black-striped dog print, plastered to the man’s back with clammy sweat.

“'Cause it’s another bomb, remember?” Benji mumbles, raising his waist so Ethan could better peel off the article. It’s only half dry, soppy and clingy against his body. “You know the last time,” he continues without making much sense. “That last time.”

“Of course,” Ethan chortles with his face planted against Benji’s warm neck, voice muffled. “You said, ‘Not a bomb again,’ right?” He has successfully got his hands on Benji’s buttocks, and smoothly proceeds to knead the not-so-soft flesh under the jeans. “I’m so sorry, Benji.”

“…What?” Benji pants, mouth slightly ajar, courtesy of Ethan’s unruly fingers, so it takes a while for the words to register. “Oi, I’m a field agent,” he says, gathering Ethan’s shoulders in his arms with some effort, “and also your friend. Hey, your nose is open here.”

“Just a friend?” Ethan has no time for the minor wound, even though it twinges now and then from his sweat. He’d really rather deal with the persistently ambiguous undercurrents and impulses right now than get up to the med kit for some small cuts. “…So, heh…” Benji says, a bit nervous since he’s fully naked under one Ethan Hunt, “I thought you’d choose the other car.”

“Which other?” Ethan asks, not following Benji’s jumping thoughts.

“You know, ‘You can be anyone, do anything.’” Benji twitches his mouth, a little gesture among many that curls Ethan’s heart in his chest into a soft ball. “Compared with a police van stolen with a neon uniform and a cabin crammed full of four grown males, I rather thought you’d go for the black BMW,” Benji says with faux nonchalance, then is tempted to raise his head in chase of his idol’s lips—currently pressed together to ward off laughter, “YE64 GCU.”

“God, Benji,” Ethan finally breaks into laughter. He leans down to bite on Benji’s proffered lips, feeling those formerly elusive and formless thoughts coagulate bit by bit. The constant care and the helplessness at the other’s abduction are so very real and well-founded. He’s just proven that.

They chat in fits and starts and without much logic, with Benji the main speaker and Ethan the listener, replying now and again to signify attention, fingers plugging Bengi’s ass. It’s not easy, both of them being new to the business, and evidently, Benji’s tiny apartment filled with game disks and plaid shirts fails to offer lubes, condoms and the like.

Ethan can tell Benji is anxious. After all, a day ago they were good buddies in life-and-death situations; six months ago Ethan nearly rolled off a plane due to Benji’s carelessness; a year and half ago Benji was still under the false impression that Ethan’s wife had been taken and murdered, guilty and a bit bitter for his mission rambles, “I quite liked Julia.” Then followed the two Turandot tickets and a bomb strapped to his chest ticking down. Ethan had attributed his own urges to adrenalin—sounds off, that he fantasized pinning his co-worker/partner somewhere for a rough fuck—the idea both highly unexpected and all-consuming.

But the truth is, during the bland six months undercover, this yearning has not disappeared. He knows now what Benji has been up to: sneakily playing Halo 5 with triple screens, plus being called up by Hunley for polygraph tests once in a while.

“That thing was so uncomfortable,” says Benji, raising his rump so Ethan’s fingers can have better access. “You know what I said,” he says, and begins giggling to himself. Ethan has no idea what he’s so merry about, but decides to listen patiently. “I said, ‘We are not friends. Ethan Hunt is still out there in the field, and I am stuck here answering for it,’” Benji says, his face a rosy red, his blue eyes bright, and Ethan takes it all in, discovering the lips bitten watery and the riot of hair rumpled by the pillow.

“Okay?” Ethan inquires, and Benji gives a jittery verbal go-ahead before swallowing discreetly, though Ethan of course notices. Even with only the bedside lamp on, Ethan can see how impossibly red Benji is in the face, with even his chest imbued with a faint glow under the sparse hair. It makes bubbles, sour-sweet, boil to the forefront of Ethan’s sternum. His dick is hard against Benji’s upper thigh. Benji’s hand is clutching the sheets, and Ethan reaches over to envelop those slightly rigid fingers in his palm.

He’s out of practice, seeing as a mere good sleep counts among luxuries for an agent on missions year round. He takes his penis in one hand, and stables Benji’s squirming butt with the other, sliding in his hard cock with the flow.

It starts off somewhat bumpily. This being the first time Benji has been anally penetrated in his apartment by a same-sex partner on top of him sporting a stiff dick, he’s tense enough to start hiccupping, at first a little burp that rocks his chest, followed by the second, and the third. Ethan seals the string of noises with a sticky kiss, exchanging breath and saliva with Benji. He’s fully sheathed now, the two of them bumping breasts, sweat reemerging along with their rising body temperature. Benji’s heartbeats, boom, boom, are almost solidified that Ethan in turn feels a bit strung.

The thrusts come naturally, their wet crotches bumping together and springing apart. Benji’s butt has assumed a red hue with Ethan’s thumps, and he squeezes his eyes shut with the foreign sensations, their corners involuntarily pinking when Ethan kisses him.

He’s lying in Ethan Hunt’s arms, being fucked and kissed, which alone sends him twitching with nerves on the mattress. The sexual thrill does not come as readily as in those porn he has downloaded in private, and to be honest he feels nothing except that Ethan’s cock is nudging around in his ass. His backside hurts a little where Ethan’s hips slam against him. But then the pleasure gradually surfaces, and Benji unconsciously rears higher to accommodate Ethan’s stuttering pace. Benji is dizzy, his ears ringing, and Ethan’s face blurs into one indistinct blob before his eyes. He automatically kisses Ethan back, moans, trembling, upon another thrust by Ethan, and comes, squirting semen fitfully. Ethan’s dick is still ramming into his ass wildly, but with more deliberate force, which coupled with the squishy slapping sound makes the pleasure almost addictive. The prolonged climax very nearly cramps Benji’s calves.

… …

“So,” Benji says while Ethan spends himself in his ass. Considering Ethan just came raw inside him the first time they have had sex, Benji seriously ponders kicking Mr. Hunt out with a quilt to sleep on the sofa. But then, Ethan is still sporting those pitiful cuts on his face. He looks long overdue for a haircut, and several strands are presently hanging limp on his forehead, making a sorry-looking giant dog of Ethan, the kind whose utter handsomeness can make Benjamin Dunn moan involuntarily.

“…Fucking hell,” Benji complains disingenuously, burrowing deeper into the embrace of the fairly glowing agent. “You are buying breakfast tomorrow.”

And what can Ethan say. He drags the quilt, which has been kicked to the end of the bed, over themselves, and turns off the lamp in the process. He affects an exaggerated sigh, but in point of fact, he has already decided on their future number of adopted dogs and the look of the curtain.

**Author's Note:**

> Nitpicks, corrections and comments are all very welcome <3


End file.
